


Absolution Tastes Like Wine

by octoberland



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberland/pseuds/octoberland
Summary: A collection of Reylo drabbles, mostly on the mature side.





	1. Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I've been posting these over on Tumblr but thought people might like to see them all in one place. I expect more will be forthcoming. These are just random ficlets that have popped into my head, mostly on the mature side because that's how I roll. The inspiration for this one was Kylo's scars.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Kylo Ren was not a vain man. He did not stand in front of mirrors admiring his form, nor had he ever given much thought to his own countenance. Some, he knew, compared themselves to others. Some, gave no thought at all, so sure they were of their own prowess. But not Kylo Ren. Master. Warrior. Future ruler of the galaxy. Of these things he was sure. The rest was noise, a distraction from his goal.

He ran his fingers along the scars that marred his pale skin. By now he'd memorized every dip and ridge. There were times when it still hurt, and times when it seemed to itch feverishly. He touched them mostly at night, when sleep escaped him and his hands wandered idly.

The girl was a distraction. It was her he thought of in these moments. Graceful, fierce, and possessing of such conviction. She was pretty, too, of course. But he told himself that did not matter. Even as his hands roamed the landscape of his body, he told himself it did not matter.

_She_ did not matter.

Even though it was her body he called to mind as his hand disappeared beneath the waistline of his pants.

_I am Kylo Ren_ , he would tell himself. _Master of the Knights of Ren_. 

He would touch himself, waking things he'd sworn off long ago. Desires that had nestled, hibernating. He'd thought them dead. Until now.

And if her name fell from his lips as his body came alive, he told himself it was nothing, meaningless. She was, after all, a scavenger. How could such a person ever elicit anything other than revulsion in him?

At least, that's what he told himself. Even as his body quaked. Even as his memory recalled her scent from that day in the forest and the slim expanse of skin where her shirt opened, promising so much more. How he'd wanted to run his nose along that stretch of skin, taking her in, tasting her, even.

He pictured it now. The way she would shiver, trembling, as he nudged aside the flimsy and worn fabric of her top, his mouth coming to rest on one perfect breast. She would be beautiful, he knew. Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. 

The rise and fall of his chest, deep and quickening, was due only to his exertion as he pleasured himself. It had nothing to do whatsoever with the idea of this random girl, this nobody, laid bare before him, at his mercy.

Most nights it was her scent that got him. But not tonight. Tonight one hand traced his scars while the other held tight to the seat of his passion, to the place that made him feel as if on fire and there was no more breath left in all the worlds. He seized as he imagined her fingers in place of his, her tongue tracing the wounds she'd made.

He spent himself in that dark night with her name drumming in his rapidly beating heart, and her imagined touch sliding over his sweat slicked body.

And if he slept better on those nights, free from terrors past and future, he told himself it did not matter.

For what was a girl who came from nothing but noise on a sleepless night?


	2. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this ficlet was the idea of them having a first kiss in the elevator but I wanted to change it up a little. Instead of her being the "prisoner" I wanted it to be him having been caught by the Resistance and not knowing what would happen to him. This one is from Rey's POV and if you picture her as an innocent little flower devoid of sexuality you might want to skip this ficlet because that's not how I've written her here.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading.

It shouldn’t be like this, she knew. A first kiss was meant to be special, not something stolen in a lift, hands bound and unable to wander. Least, that's what she thought anyway. She wasn't really sure. Life on Jakku hadn’t allowed for such pleasures. Everything there was survival; living one meal to the next, never knowing what each day would bring. Sure, she'd had moments of peace, moments of mirth even. But pleasure? Only in stolen moments late at night when a young girl's curiosity got the better of her, hands flitting between her legs and then laughing because it tickled.

Not like how she felt now. Not the way her body suddenly came alive as his lips moved against hers. She knew if he were able to touch her it would feel so _very_ different from her own fleeting explorations.

He moaned then, a sound so similar to that of pain and yet so vastly different, and she knew he must have plucked the thought from her mind, must have felt what she felt in that moment as heat flared deep within her and desire sprang like a dust storm, thick and blinding. She felt him lean into her, his long fingers clutching at the fabric of her trousers as though he might fall without something to grasp onto.

But all too soon it was over. The lift halted its descent and in those last seconds before the doors sprang open he said her name.

"Rey," 

In that moment her name became so many things; longing, shame, and regret. But fear too. Fear of the future. Fear of what would become of him.

She stood, helpless, as he was escorted away, her body still singing from their all too brief encounter.

She didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But he was here, closer to her than he'd ever been.

And that was something, at least.


	3. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this ficlet is the throne room scene, specifically, the hip grab. I just had this idea that that touch would haunt him long after everything that happened. In my mind, for this piece, weeks have passed and he finds himself searching for her. He thinks, maybe, she is coming to him at night while he sleeps but he's not sure. All he knows is that he can still feel her touch.

He can still feel her touch, a searing pain he welcomes even all these weeks later. Sometimes, when he's alone, when the lights are low and the only sound he can hear is the deep thrum of space just outside his quarters, he touches that spot, fingers tracing the outline of her hand as it gripped him tight. He wonders if, even now, she can feel the dip of his pelvis and the way his muscles tightened as he thrust during battle.

She was beautiful that day; feral with anger and so willing to fight. Beside him. _With_ him. He'd felt whole in that moment. Unafraid for the first time in a very long time. When she'd turned to look at him he'd known: They would survive together or they would die together. That was their pact in that brief space of wordless breath. It was then that he'd made the decision to ask for her hand. And it was then that he'd realized he could no longer see a future without her. 

He hates her for the way she makes him feel; vulnerable, needy, at the mercy of another. It seems his life always hangs by the thread of those around him, tethering him to duty or family or some unknowable destiny he has no design over. His desire for her drives a hidden war, splitting him in two. He wants to bow before her, to give himself to her. Not to the light. Just to her. But this acquiescence is not in his nature. 

In his darker moments he imagines her on her knees before him. And instead of her hand on his hip it's her mouth. She is kissing him there and his gloved hands slip into her hair and he moans as this imaginary Rey slides her hands up his thighs, eyes locked to his.

Some nights he wakes covered in sweat and he swears he can smell her on him but he tells himself it's not what he thinks, that it couldn’t be. He remembers the last time he saw her, the way her face hardened right before the door closed. She wouldn’t come to him. Not now. Not ever again. This truth stabs at his already aching heart.

The very last thing he has of her is this phantom burning touch, a reminder of what he had and of what he lost. He presses his palm there, imagines he can feel her slight fingers pressed beneath his. 

He searches for her, still. In the outer quadrants, on desert planets, in the dusky corridors of smuggler's havens. The heat of her touch pulls him this way and that, and he knows she is toying with him, knows that she can feel him too. He wonders if her hand burns.

He hopes that it does.


	4. Gloves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you've been reading these little ficlets, thank you. I hope you are enjoying them. This one goes right into detailed, kind of kinky smut and because of that I'm going to change the rating on this collection. If you don't like explicit sex then skip this one. The inspiration for this was Kylo's gloves. I just had this random flash in my head of him wearing the gloves and nothing else and decided I had to write it.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and feel free to leave comments too.

Sometimes, when they make love, he wears his gloves and nothing else. He knows she likes this, can easily pluck the thought from her mind. It makes her feel like she is doing something she shouldn’t be and that excites her, raises goose flesh on her skin and makes her beg. Oh, how he loves it when she begs. He can’t imagine any other sound in all the worlds as beautiful as the ones she makes when she's about to come and he is denying her.

Sometimes, in those moments, she grows frustrated. She will take his gloved hand into her mouth and suck on his leather clad fingers until they are slick and shining. Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she will bite down. Hard. The pain incites his anger which is exactly what she wants. He fucks her, then. Merciless in his thrusts and she meets him every time.

Sometimes he will wrap one gloved hand tight around her throat. Not enough to hurt her. Not so much that she can’t breathe. But enough for her to know that he is in charge. At least on those nights. He will push her legs wide open with his other hand and when he enters her he watches her eyes slip closed, serenity washing over her. She likes it best when she can feel him all around and in her and he is happy to oblige.  
On other nights he will kneel on the floor between her legs as she lies back on the bed. It took a long time for him to do this. For many cycles kneeling made him think of very different things. But now he likes it. So long as she is there, wet and wanting and waiting. She holds her legs open for him and he can feel her energy slipping along their bond, encouraging him.

First, he kisses her there. It is a chaste kiss. He keeps his mouth closed and merely brushes his lips against her own. She squirms and he smiles. Then, he opens his mouth. Not too much. But enough so he can take the seat of her pleasure between his lips and suck. She draws in a sharp breath when he does this and his cock twitches in response. His tongue slips out to taste her. She is slightly sour but the way her hips cant, urging him on, is enough to keep him going.

He slides one gloved finger along her slit. The leather creaks and she trembles in response. She is pink and glistening, even in the low light of their quarters. He circles the swollen nub of her clit once slowly before taking it into his mouth again. This time he grazes it with his teeth. She rewards him with a breathy gasp and he can feel her need through their bond. She may be made of light, but she relishes plucking the strings of his darkness.

He has to resist the desire to take his cock in his hand and pump himself to completion. He would love to stand above her and spill his seed all over her. But tonight is not about him. Tonight is hers and he will do what she wants.

Right now she wants him inside of her. She wants him to use his hands and his mouth to make her come. A deeper, more secret part of her wonders how his gloved hands would feel slapping her and he files that thought away for another evening.

Instead, he wets one finger in his mouth. And then, with care, he slips it inside of her. She can take much more than that but he likes to start slow. Her response is immediate. She pushes down on his hand. She wants it rough. But he's not going to give it to her that way. Not yet.

He returns his mouth to her, sucking and licking in earnest, and she rewards him with tiny sounds of pleasure. He taps the finger inside of her up and her back arches off the bed. He repeats this until her body is undulating and then he pulls out. Her frustration rolls off of her in a wave but it is short lived. He slides back in, adding another finger, and she mewls, actually _mewls_. His cock is hard and straining and he strokes it once.

He fucks her with his hand while his mouth is on her. She is no longer holding her legs open for him. She is too far gone for that. Instead she grasps and twists the sheets beneath her. She pants as he strokes within her. She is wild in this moment. Hair splayed out beneath her, body covered in a fine sheen. She does not look at him but that's okay. He can feel everything she is feeling through their bond.  
When she is close he stills within her. She knows what comes next so she does not protest. He rises, fingers still locked within her, and in one fluid motion they slide back onto the bed so he is leaning over her, knees resting between her legs. Now he wants her to look. Now he wants to see the way her eyes will beg.

He flicks his fingers up, strong and sure, tapping at the spongy spot within they'd found together. As he does this he places his other leather clad hand on her mons and presses down. She likes the way this makes her feel. It's almost like she needs to relieve herself but instead her pleasure builds in ways that make her nearly dizzy. Her eyes slip closed.

_Rey…_

His voice in her mind snaps her back but only barely. She is so wound now she can feel it in her teeth and then he sees it; that look he's been waiting for, the one begging him for release. She makes a pleading sound and it's all he can do not to take her violently in that moment and sheath himself within her.

But he does not do this. 

He is proud of his self-control as he slides a finger over her clit. He uses his fingers, inside and out, and every time her eyes close he calls her name, until, finally, when everything is wet and she is shaking and her muscles are clamped tight around him, she asks him. Not through words, but through their bond.

_May I?_

He always waits a beat, just long enough to make her wonder. Then,

_Yes…_

And in that moment she becomes like an exploding sun, burning bright and hot and beautiful in her release. Her eyes do close and she screams and her body twists up off the bed and all the while he keeps working her, drawing out every last bit of pleasure he can. Some nights when they do this he can bring her to a second orgasm if he lets her guide the pace, but tonight she is spent. She draws in deep breaths as her body rests back against the sheets and she quivers in the wake of her orgasm. When he releases her she lets out a small cry of disappointment but he silences it with a kiss.

After a few moments of holding her and whispering to her, he goes and gets her some water. He holds her as she drinks and he holds her some more when she is done. When she is calm again she takes his hands in her own and removes his gloves. She kisses each finger of his bare hands and then each bare palm. When she is done she places the gloves in a drawer beside the bed.

Tomorrow, he will wear them, as he always does. And when some task tries his patience, he will lift a hand to his nose and take in her scent. 

And she will temper him. Just like she always does.


End file.
